bul-bule ke jaisa taire hava me
sardiyo ki dhoop sa mijaaz hai
mausmo ka rang bhi oadhle
kal nahi tha par aaj hai

nabz tez iski chalti rahe
bewkufiyo pe bhi naaj hai
sabne jana fir bhi na khul saka
yaar ye wahi raaz hai
kyu ishq me ishq lage aasan
kyu kya pata sach me hua hai
ya hone lagi ishq ki khushfehmiya
khushfehmiyan, khushfehmiyan, khushfehmiyan

rato me ye lori bhi gungunaye
subah subah coffiee ka cup lage
baithu hatho me jo akbar leke
baaji surkhiya sab lage
kyu aadate ishk ki hai nadan
kyu kya pata sach me hua hai
ya hone lagi ishq ki khushfehmiya

ishq fir kiski sunta hai, ishq ki raahen bunta hai
chand pe fir bhi chalta hai, ishq ka rasta
ishq fir kiski sunta hai, ishq ki raahen bunta hai
chand pe fir bhi chalta hai, ishq ka rasta
kyu ishq me ishq lage aasan
kyu kya pata sach me hua hai
ya hone lagi ishq ki khushfehmiya
khushfehmiyan, khushfehmiyan, khushfehmiyan

Like bubbles, it dances in the air,
A mood as warm as winter's sun.
It borrows colors from all seasons,
Here today, though yesterday, it was none.

Its pulse beats fast, a vibrant fire,
Proud even of folly's embrace.
Though all have known, it won't unfold,
This secret, this enduring space.
Why does love seem so easily won?
Why, who knows if it's truly there?
Or are we just weaving love's illusions,
Illusions, illusions, everywhere?

In nights, it hums a lullaby,
Each dawn a coffee cup appears.
Holding a paper in my hands,
The headlines, they become my tears.
Why are love's habits so naive?
Why, who knows if it's truly there?
Or are we just weaving love's illusions?

Love, it listens to no other, love's own paths it weaves,
It treads the moon, on love's own road it believes.
Love, it listens to no other, love's own paths it weaves,
It treads the moon, on love's own road it believes.

Why does love seem so easily won?
Why, who knows if it's truly there?
Or are we just weaving love's illusions,
Illusions, illusions, everywhere?